


Blurred Lines

by Kuya



Category: One Piece
Genre: Fluff, I really am, M/M, Remembering of traumatic past, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sorry for the title, Zoro being emotionally constipated, but that´s ok Sanji is too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuya/pseuds/Kuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, here's that promised sequel. Sorry it turned out to be so short, but any lengthening only ended up mangling the whole thing.</p></blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There had never before been a person in his life that had pissed him off more than that stupid cook. And that was at the times the curly brow wasn't even trying.

He had lost count of how many times they'd clashed, it happened on an almost daily basis nowadays. And he was talking about the sword-drawing, kicks-swirling kind of clash. The kind that involved a lot of cleaning up and getting yelled at (by evil redheads) afterwards.

Yet, if asked, he wouldn't be able to say who had started it all, _how_ it had started. He had played with the idea of asking the cook but somehow the words had felt stupid in his mouth. The cook would probably just have laughed at him anyway, so he'd gone with an insult instead. Couldn't go wrong with that. And _damn_ had it been pleasing to see that shit-eating grin wiped off the other's face. He doubted he'd ever grow tired of that.

Over time, new nick names had been invented, tested on the tip of tongues, savoured carefully before rolling off curled lips, teeth bared, getting discarded again if not producing the desired level of insult.

At one point, the thought had crossed his mind that it might not be the wisest of ideas to pick a fight with the cook. A little dose of poison or spit could be added far too easily. But then again, the other's pride in his work (and no-wasting-of-food policy) would never allow for that. He hadn't forgotten the other's face that time Usopp had had an allergic fit to his 'chocolat soufflé' or whatever he'd called the things. He'd never seen the other look so… _defeated_.

It hadn't been a good look on him. It had tugged at something deep inside of Zoro, which, of course, he'd ignored. Just because he had admitted to himself that, no matter how infuriating and how much of a pain in the ass the other was, he still considered him a friend, _nakama_ , it didn't mean he'd let the stupid love cook know. (Not over his dead body.)

Their interactions had been clear, simple. Predictable. That was until _that_ night.

At first, he'd thought the other was sleepwalking. He had been about to land a nice, solid punch in his gut when he'd noticed the other was very much awake, going by the ragged breathing and the little tremors. It had been enough to make him pause, confused. Sanji and fear didn't really connect in his mind.

Was the other sick? No, he'd been as lively and annoying as ever during their fight earlier that day (Zoro just _knew_ it was colder on the North Pole in the North Blue. Even a child knew the north was colder than the south). That's when he'd felt a rare bout of panic. Something was very wrong.

So he'd asked as nicely as he could, "Oi, cook, you finally lost it?" His efforts hadn't been rewarded, though.

"Shut up, shitty marimo."

But there had barely been any force behind the words and the stupid cook didn't move an inch. And apparently didn't intend to do so any time soon. So Zoro had made himself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances (because these damn hammocks hadn't been built for two tall, grown men) and had settled in for the night.

It was only a few days later that it sunk in that he could technically kick out the man hogging his sleeping space. Because, frankly, his leg was starting to hurt like a bitch, sleeping in such a cramped position each night. And he didn't get what that stupid cook was thinking at all. During the day, he'd pick a fight at any opportunity he got but, come night time, he'd wait until everyone was dead to the world before tapping lightly onto Zoro's shoulder and sneaking into the space he expected the other to clear for him.

Once, just for the hell of it, Zoro had feigned sleep. To see what the other'd do then. But all it had earned him had been a kick in the side, sending him crashing into the wall. Hard. The cook hadn't come the next night and neither the one after that. He'd called out to the blonde in the third night, whispering as not to wake up the others but knowing the cook would hear him. And he had.

They hadn't talked anymore safe for that night and they always slept with their backs facing each other. (They weren't cuddling after all, mind you.) They weren't exactly touching but because of the size of the hammock they were close enough for Zoro to feel the warmth emitting from a body nearby. The cook's body.

It wasn't such an uncomfortable feeling at all. So instead of throwing the cook out, Zoro found himself unconsciously clearing space for the other as soon as he lay down to sleep, his brain having labelled one half as the cook's. He didn't think too deeply about that.

This went on for a good two weeks until Zoro was woken by something pressing into his back. His hand already curling around Wado, his brain kicked in and informed him that this was no enemy attacking but just the stupid cook clinging to his back, doing a fantastic job of sounding like a mental case.

If he listened closely, he could make out the words of the other's mantra:

_I'm not hungry._

Figured.

He'd gotten a pretty good idea by now of what had caused the proud, cocky cook to start this latest habit of his. The guy had nightmares. Nightmares about the time he'd spent on that rock, starving and alone. Well, technically not alone but a guy he hadn't seen safe for the beginning and the very end didn't count.

Not that the cook had told him any of this personally, of course, and he sure as hell hadn't asked. Some things were just _too damn raw,_. So what he knew was what he'd put together from the bits and pieces he'd heard from the other's sleep talking or from what little he'd picked up way back at that float-y restaurant.

Not really knowing what to do with a cook behaving so unlike his usual annoying self, Zoro'd settled for gently nudging him in the shoulder, physically feeling him startle awake. The blond made no move to let go of him while panting into the back of Zoro's neck, making him _feel_ the hair there raise. Not the reaction he'd expected.

Resisting the urge to shake the cook off, Zoro wondered if that was where you were supposed to give the other person a hug but the thought of him hugging the cook was just ridiculous. And anyway, pity was the last thing the cook'd want. So he decided on pretending to be asleep instead until eventually he drifted off for real, lulled in by the sound of slowly calming breathing.

The next morning, the cook shot weird looks in his direction all over breakfast (and not the glaring-with-one-curly-brow thing he usually had going) and the following night, he didn't turn to face away from Zoro after sliding in next to him.

So Zoro turned around as well, his eyes meeting searching hazel ones.

And he had no idea how the hell that had lead to his arm being misused as a pillow for the cook's head.

Damn did that hair tickle.

And the curly brow even had the guts to complain. "You're hard, shitty muscle head." Zoro had to bite back his "Then get the hell out of my space" because Luffy chose that moment to announce that he was starving (which, given the situation, _inappropriate_ ), going as far as stretching an arm to bodily drag the person in charge of feeding him into the kitchen. Besides, an idiot would be able to tell the smile behind the other's words.

They lay there, holding their breaths and listening to Luffy's breathing evening out once more, having given up after not having found the cook in his hammock, when Zoro asked, "Why?" He knew the other'd understand and true enough, "Because you're safe." Before he could ask what the hell that was supposed to mean, the cook had fallen asleep.

From then on, they didn't face away from each other anymore. Zoro got used to his shoulder falling asleep under the weight of the other's head (damn heavy), to the warmth of a body draped over his (was he a cat?). He stopped feeling bothered by those stupidly soft, ticklish blond locks and his arms began to feel lonely in the wee hours of morning when the other slipped out to prepare breakfast (which was the only reason nobody'd learned of their new sleeping arrangement as of yet). He learned what the cook's face looked like when not contorted by anger or love and was surprised he didn't mind this new side to the man, as annoying as the others may be.

In return, the cook really made himself at home. He even took to bringing his own blanket and Zoro learned that sleeping with one didn't have to feel bad at all. And if he began to murmur soothing words into occasionally trembling ears and shivering limbs, it was something he chose not to think about too much.

The situation should probably have worried him, because, frankly, this was _Sanji_ and if that wasn't reason enough, though he wasn't very adept in the code of manners, he was pretty sure males of same age huddling in a small hammock wasn't standard procedure. But somehow, even knowing that, he couldn't really bring himself to care. He'd never been good at the Ordinary anyway.

\--

The months passed and naturally the others noticed eventually. It had only been a matter of time, really. Though he supposed they could've done without Usopp coming back from night shift and stumbling into his hammock hard enough to send all three of them crashing to the floor in a heap. That Sanji had been drooling all over him hadn't made it a better way of waking up.

It really hadn't been their fault that they'd had to beat him up (again) in the morning (Who'd told him to call them a couple? Because they _were not_. Who'd date a guy with a dartboard for a brow anyway?). The others seemed to have gotten the message after that, though. Nobody tried to pry again.

Though there had been this one conversation with Luffy. Luffy wouldn't be Luffy if he got subtle cues like being beaten half to death. It surprised Zoro every time again when their captain had one of his rare moments of sheer wisdom. It was after lunch, and usually the first to leave after all the food had been gulfed down by or hidden from him, Luffy had stayed put for once, observing Sanji doing the dishes with that strange expression of insight.

"He doesn't cry anymore." Zoro was a bit taken aback. "Who does?" Luffy turned towards him, expression unusually solemn. "Sanji." He drew his hat into his face more deeply, shading his eyes. "He cried?" Zoro heard the surprise in his voice. "His soul did. But not anymore. It's nice." With that Luffy raised his head and flashed one of his impossibly wide grins. It was all Zoro could do to stare dumbfounded.

That night he might have held the cook a little more tightly than usual.

It turned out that Brook had known all along (Being a skeleton he had problems keeping his eyes closed– since he didn't have any eyes!).

\--

In the end, after Luffy had become the pirate king and Zoro the greatest swordsman on all the seas, after the cook had found the All Blue and had piloted Zeff and the Baratie there, after they'd all achieved their dreams, nobody batted an eye when Zoro claimed the sunny spot on the porch of the Baratie.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's that promised sequel. Sorry it turned out to be so short, but any lengthening only ended up mangling the whole thing.

Zoro would call himself a solid sleeper. He slept often and deeply, and it wasn't an easy thing to wake him up. All the more surprised he was when he found himself awake in the middle of the night, woken by an unfamiliar sound.

Moaning.

The _cook's_ moaning.

 _Right into his ear_.

He shoved the blonde out of the hammock.

"Oi, what the fuck, marimo?" The cook complained from his place on the floor.

"Go have that kind of dream elsewhere," he grunted, not bothering to raise his head from the pillow. Only when the cook stayed quiet did he peek out from under their blanket, finding the blonde gone.

Zoro didn't get any more sleep, even long after he'd heard the cook crawl into his own hammock for a change. (He refused to acknowledge that the absence of a certain annoying blonde or the phantom moans ghosting in his ears had anything to do with it.)

That had been a week ago. A week of the cook moaning softly into his ear– nothing less from the love cook– and now he was facing yet another kind of _situation_. What he was feeling against his leg definitively wasn't the cook's cigarettes. He wasn't spared a damn thing, was he?

Going by his breathing, the cook was awake as well. Which wasn't surprising since it was beginning to dawn and with it time for him to be getting up. What _was_ surprising was the bright crimson of the cook's face. Zoro found himself observing a little, fascinated, forgetting his intention to kick the other out. "Exactly what kind of dream were you having, pervert cook?" He watched with deep satisfaction and more than a little amusement how the blonde sputtered and practically bolted.

Later that day, it occurred to him that the proper response would've been to freak out. But that revelation paled when faced with the cook fucking _kissing_ him in front of _all_ _their nakama_. Especially when Zoro was the only one to recognize it as the revenge it was. Fucking _bastard_.

Zoro got him back by claiming the blonde's lap for his afternoon nap, knowing the cook wouldn't dare push him off. And for all his complaining and the fight he put up, he didn't. He even used the chance to nap himself.

And before Zoro knew it, it was the cook's birthday. Not that he remembered that kind of thing, but the cook had continued to remind them for days and now that the big day had arrived, he was behaving even more stupid than usual, noodling around the presents the girls had gotten him while barely sparing the usual, self-made drawing from the male part of the crew a quick glance and a thank you. Zoro, also part of the drawing crew, was the only one to get a death glare and a kick in the jaw.

At lunch, the portion placed in front of him was arranged with less care than usual, even to Zoro's untrained and uncaring eye. (When had they started getting that way anyway?) He pointed it out and when the cook came at him kicking, he started to get the impression that the blonde was pissed at him.

Only that he didn't remember doing anything. It took a missing snack and a sour dinner until it dawned on him that it was precisely _because_ he hadn't done anything that the cook was pissed. How troublesome. If it was so important to him, he should have said so.

He ignored Robin's creepily knowing looks and Nami telling him he was an idiot and went up to the crow's nest where the cook's moods wouldn't reach him.

That night, the cook was stiff as a fucking board and there was no way he'd be able to sleep like that. He sat up, pushing the cook off him and onto his back. Then, without breaking eye contact, he slowly lay back down– on top of the cook, head on the blonde's shoulder. 

Just because he usually ignored it, it didn't mean he hadn't noticed that the cook took some sort of perverse pleasure from what he saw as Zoro baring his belly, big spoon, small spoon and all that. Not that Zoro really cared.

He threw one arm comfortably around the cook's waist and slid one leg between the blonde's– steering clear of _that place_ – before sighing into the cook's collarbone. It was surprisingly nice.

The cook seemed to be frozen in place and Zoro was considering if he'd done the wrong thing _again_ when the cook snapped out of it and folded over him as if the idiot was trying to somehow crawl _inside_ of him. 

Before Zoro could complain or make an effort to pull away, the stupid cook buried his face in his hair and murmured, voice thick with emotion,

"Thank you."

Zoro swallowed. Just this once, he would.

"Happy Birthday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I've kinda grown attached to this little thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff. What a shocker.

Zoro was jostled awake by the cook flinching whole-bodily. Another nightmare. They were getting more frequent lately– a result of the day of the ship wreckage nearing, as the cook had spilled the other night. 

He pulled the other closer sleepily, nuzzling into blonde locks, fully intent on going back to sleep when the cook buried his head beneath Zoro's chin and sneaked an arm around his middle. The cook's shaky exhale and a mouth against his throat were the last things he felt before drifting off again.

The increasing nightmares had an upside to them, though. Less sleeping at night meant more sleeping during the day, meaning he got the cook to lend him his lap– or any part of his body really– out of what Zoro guessed to be guilt, though more often than not, the blonde would just end up napping himself. At the times he didn't, Zoro would doze off to the familiar scent of tobacco and long, deadly skilful fingers combing through his hair.

It didn't come as a surprise when the anniversary of the ship wreckage ended up falling together with the day they'd begun sharing a hammock. Another fact the other deemed to share with him after his damn tossing and turning had woken Zoro for the fucking _fourth_ time that night and he was seriously contemplating just sleeping on the floor. The cook, going by the bags under his eyes, hadn't gotten _any_ sleep yet, and he wasn't looking like he was about to get any soon. What a moron. 

"You wanna talk about it, curly?"

Zoro had never had a knack for dealing with others' problems; he generally thought it to be too much trouble. But if it meant that the cook would stop elbowing him in the ribs, it might just be worth it for once.

"About what," came the dumb reply.

"Your plans for breakfast." Had he been more awake and had it not been about three in the damn morning, he'd have rolled his eyes. "The rock, obviously."

He felt the cook shrug lightly against him, tense. "Not much to tell." 

Huh. 

He had halfway dozed off again by the time the cook added, "It was cold. Especially at night." Zoro grunted, to show that he was listening. "And dark," the cook continued, and almost inaudibly," I was scared." There was a pause and when Zoro didn't laugh, the blonde went on, "I felt empty. Alone. Fucking _powerless_."

Zoro curled the arm the cook was lying on around the blonde and the cook wriggled closer in response until he was lying mostly on top of Zoro. He flinched when the curly bastard tucked his chilled face into his neck.

There was silence before he felt the mouth against his skin stretch into a small smile. "But there was beauty even there. Every shitty night, there was this huge amount of stars. I've never seen as many since." 

That was when Brook came back from night watch, and talking was over.

The next morning, the first thing Zoro saw was the cook's face. Watching him from beside the hammock, fully dressed.

"Creep."

He turned around, closing his eyes again, but suddenly, the warmth of the blanket was gone.

"Oi, don't just turn around, you shitty national treasure!"

Zoro's eyebrow twitched. "The hell you want, shit cook?"

The blanket was back and with it one cook. "You know, that was the first time I got any sleep on _that_ night." The words were spoken so quietly that Zoro could only make them out because they were murmured _directly into his ear_. He shook the blonde off.

"What's your point, curly brow?"

The cook was gone again.

"No point."

Footsteps drew away and Zoro curled into the blanket.

"Breakfast's ready. Let it get cold and I'll kick your ass."

Predictably, he fell asleep again and predictably, the cook picked a fight with him for it. What Zoro hadn't expected was for the cook to slump against him afterwards, catching his breath. And instead of moving away once recovered, he draped himself over Zoro's shoulders.

"Oi, cook, don't use other people as pillars."

"Shaddup. Lemme rest for a bit."

Zoro shifted a little to get into a more comfortable position. "What are you, a spoilt brat?."

He didn't receive an answer; the cook was already out cold.

Zoro considered throwing the cook off. It'd be easy, but one look at the other's tired face and that seemed... bad. Instead, he took the chance to study the other's face a little more closely, checking if the second eyebrow was as curly as the visible one (it was) and experimentally gathering the cook's hair into twin pigtails (hilarious), before eventually nodding off himself.

He woke again before the cook, his stomach telling him that lunchtime was near. Luffy was the other reminder, bouncing up and down in front of where they were leaning against the front mast.

Nice fellow that he was, he decided to help the cook rise before Luffy did ( _never_ a nice way to wake up) and kissed the sleeping blonde. From that moment on, it took about five seconds for the curly brow to be wide awake, as red as his tomato cocktail, and aiming for Zoro's head. He evaded effortlessly, satisfied.

"Can dish it out but can't take it, can we."

"I hate you."

They both knew that was a lie, but that didn't mean Zoro was about to call the other on it. That wasn't how they worked.

And work, they did.


	4. Chapter 4

Lazing around in the kitchen, watching the cook prepare meals had become one of his favourite pastimes. It had started as a jibe against the blonde but had ended up becoming the easiest way to wind down after a good hard training session instead, something about seeing the cook in his element effectively soothing him into a comfortable doze.

After the first dozen times, the blonde had given up on throwing him out, realizing that he'd just come back and that picking a fight would only end up destroying his beloved kitchen, and Zoro enjoyed this new privilege to its fullest, taking short naps to the sounds of the cook doing his thing.

He pretended not to notice how the cook's gaze would linger on him sometimes when the other thought he wouldn't see, not willing to acknowledge and consequently having to think about the softness in the blonde's eyes when he did.

That wasn't what they did. Their relationship was built on quiet acknowledgement of and respect for the other's skills and values and the lines had blurred enough lately, no need to smudge them any further. It was better that way.

While he'd discovered the galley as a place to hang out in, the cook had taken to watching him train, no matter how hard the blonde tried to downplay the fact. Not that he even needed to– Zoro figured it was the same for the blonde as it was for him to watch the other cook. The cook didn't sleep, though, but brought some of his kitchen jobs outside, and the company was surprisingly welcome. It made time pass a lot quicker even if they seldom actually talked.

Tonight was one of the nights he had ship watch and while more often than not the cook would climb up to the crow's nest at some point, if only to bring him some snack, the blonde had announced he still had to finish up stuff in the kitchen and had crawled directly into their hammock afterwards.

It was another one of those instances that made Zoro become a little more convinced that something was going on with the cook. It wasn't anything at a level bad enough that it couldn't be shrugged off, though, and so that was exactly what he'd been doing. It wasn't like he really wanted to know– the cook could handle himself and his problems well enough– and if the blonde wanted help, he'd be willing to but the other'd have to outright ask.

As it was, he slipped into bed beside the blonde as soon as his part of watch was over, molding himself against the other's back, noticing immediately that the cook wasn't asleep despite it being in the middle of the night but not commenting on it. Instead, he buried his face in the top of the other's head, hooking one leg over the blonde's, effectively trapping the cook. Content that the other wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, he conked out in less than a minute.

He was ripped from his dream some indiscernible amount of time later by the ground under him moving, realizing a few split seconds later that the moving ground was actually the cook squirming under him, glaring up at him, pink-faced.

"Move. I'm being pressed to death here!" 

He'd managed a garbled, "Sorry" while sliding sideways to roll off the blonde when his sleep-fogged mind registered something else that was being pressed. Against his hip. He froze, surprised, and the cook's face darkened to an impossible shade of red.

They'd had cases of morning wood before; hell, they'd had them _a lot_. It _was_ the pervert cook and even he experienced the thing from time to time but he'd thought they'd gotten over the awkward pretty well. He had no idea why the other was reacting so strongly now. They were both men, after all. He watched as the idiot cook went redder by the second, looking about ready to combust.

It was funny, really.

Without any real thought, he reached over, feeling the cook and getting a strangled little noise out of the other before the blonde's face scrunched up hilariously when he started moving his hand. 

"What're you doing... shitty moss? Unh– Stop it!"

But Zoro was enjoying this way too much to stop now. It wasn't often that he saw the cook so completely embarrassed and he wasn't about to let this go so easily. In no time at all, all of the cook's muscles seized up simultaneously and liquid warmth spilled over his fingers.

That was when it started dawning on him what he'd just done but the blonde's face was too good to let himself become distracted and he was strangely satisfied with having put that expression there.

"How quick," he couldn't resist, and was rewarded with a loathing glare. He watched interestedly as the cook tore away the hand he'd clamped over his mouth, scrambling off to the bathroom, practically radiating heat.

The cook flat-out ignored him after that safe for an attempted dropkick to his forehead when he'd demanded his share of breakfast. The blonde didn't emerge to peel veggies in the sunlight and he didn't come fetch Zoro for lunch, something he'd begun doing, having taken on some dumb challenge of waking Zoro up from his pre-lunch nap in new stupid ways every time.

So he went to the galley. The other raised a curly eyebrow at him and smoothly moved onto his left foot but didn't actually lunge and thus he sat down in his usual spot, eyes only half-closed in case the cook changed his mind. He didn't and Zoro must have dozed off at some point since the next thing he felt were nimble, calloused fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. His head was pillowed on something warm, though pretty firm. The cook's legs.

That was new, the other ditching his duties to sneak up on him like that. He took a moment to analyze the cook's behavior before deciding he'd never understand what went on in the other's deranged brain and settling in again.

His cushion moved slightly. Damn, the blonde had noticed that he was awake. The other always moved away as soon as he woke up, which was stupid of course because all it had produced was that he'd learnt to wake up without the cook catching onto it. Well, at least at the times he was aware he was getting a pillow service.

The cook almost never let him use his lap, claiming it was a waste of time, but the curly bastard's lap was, though boney, pretty damn comfy so he took his chances whenever he could.

"Oi, Zoro."

If he pretended not to hear, the other might let him drift for a little longer.

It didn't work. 

"Marimo, get the fuck up. I need to talk to you."

Not moving from his position otherwise, he pried one eye open, meeting a wide, stormy one. He woke up a bit more at that. He'd seldom seen Sanji uncomfortable. The other was usually pretty good at hiding it.

"This morning..."

The blonde didn't continue. Instead, he peered down at Zoro with this strange look in his eye that Zoro decided he didn't like one bit.

"What? Can't take a joke?"

The weird expression intensified and he realized that maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say, but he wasn't used to having to be careful around people, neither was he particularly good at it.

"So that's what it was to you? A joke?" The cook chuckled but it sounded all wrong and he didn't get what that idiot was getting so worked up about.

Something must have shown on his face because the next moment, the cook bent over and slammed their mouths together angrily where he was still lying on the other's legs.

"I really ought to bind you to the anchor and send you swimming."

"I'd like to see you try."

There was another kiss, no more gentle than the first one, before the cook fucking _bit_ him, running his tongue over the bleeding flesh.

"Don't let anyone else do this to you."

He wanted to tell the stupid cook to shove it, that it was none of his business, but didn't and it was well worth it when that weird expression finally disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> May eventually get a sequel


End file.
